


That's Another Story, Not One I'm Willing to Tell

by Greta_Nutly



Category: Original Work
Genre: Equestrian, F/M, Horseback Riding, Horses, Secret Identity, secret history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greta_Nutly/pseuds/Greta_Nutly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you know a kid has secrets, huge ones, you let them play out. Normally She only tells one, maybe parts of another. This  is the story of a girl who grew up as a ghost, she didn't exist, until she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's Different, and Always Will be

**Author's Note:**

> So, well this isn't finished, I just wanted some feed back. Thanks for reading.

The boys know it isn't uncommon for her to disappear for weeks and come back injured, but they don’t know what she did. They knew she had a rough childhood, but they didn’t know why. They knew she was different, but they didn’t know how. They knew Sniper was her baby, her link to the past, they just dint know how her past went with her right now. They knew- They thought she was normal, until they knew she wasn’t.  
She had the childhood every kid wanted, She made a difference. She was a sniper, essentially. She was a SEAL, a member of the SAS, a Marine, a spy, an assassin, everything little boys and girls wanted to be, but She knew better. She was special, at least that’s what They said. She was a Ghost. Until She wasn't  
Margarita Inna Ambroisa didn't exist, until She did, until she was 14 and picked up by a blond stranger while riding down the side of the road with a military issued assault pack slung over her shoulders.  
Let's start from the beginning shall we? Or at least as close to the beginning as I can go. My name was never Margarita. It was Yasha. Very Russian I know, but I didn't have a choice, even new name is pretty Russian, but I'm pretty Russian, pale skin, hour glass figure, light eyes. My only really non-Russian feature is my hair, which is a deep ruby crimson color. (Almost the color of blood, I always found that funny, how my hair matched what I forced so many men to shed)  
But that's not the story I need to share. The story I need to share isn't nearly as bloody. The story I need to tell isn't the story of a girl who used to exist. But the story of a girl who used to Not exist.  
So, here goes everything.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
You know how most of these stories start with something along the lines of "It was a normal Wednesday morning at school until the new kid showed up"? Well that’s not how this'll work, because Normal means Routine. Routine means Everyone knows what your gonna do and when your gonna do it. That means that anyone can plan your Freak Accident. (I mean your murder) Or at least it did for me, but since then I've learned I was different.  
So It wasn't a normal Wednesday morning , I don’t even think it was a Wednesday. And it sure wasn’t morning, it was late afternoon early evening. And I'm fine with that. I'm even fine with the fact that it wasn’t a knight in shining armor who rescued me, (Hell, I'm even fine with the fact that it wasn't even a boy.) What I'm not fine with is what I had to be rescued from. It wasn't a monster, a cop, a gang leader, or even some creepy man. I had to be rescued from myself, and that's something I'm not fine with.


	2. Sometime's The Truth Won't Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why Does a Girl End Up There?"  
> "She Doesn't Have a Choice."

My rescue started with Sniper, my horse more on him later, and I walking down I-70 with the bare minimum slung on my back, maybe $20 in my pocket. I'm pretty sure it was my 3rd day on the road, camping out with the homeless when possible and when it wasn't, wherever I could. That was over when a maybe 30, 5' something, blonde woman stoppped. She had to of been the driver for or owner of a large Equestrian center, because her truck was pulling a 5 horse trailer with "Creek Side Equestrian Center, Where the horses and equestrians alike are treated like Royalty" On the side. She didn’t even ask me what I was doing, just offered Sniper the last slant in the trailer and me the passenger seat and an apple. She only questioned me after I finished the apple, and her questions were simple. "What's your name? Mine's Roxanne, What's the name of your horse? And where you off to?" My answers were equally simple, "name's Margarita, His name's Sniper, and Anywhere, I don’t care." My spoken English was slightly broken, but it just sounded like I was tired, and my voice was laced heavily with a accent. When I didn't say anymore Roxanne didn't push, she just turned on the radio and drove on in silence.  
Sometimes I wonder wether or not things would be different if I had been different, but I did what  
I was trained to do. So when a strange older man shook me awake hours later I attacked him. That got me in trouble. I was told, no more like ordered, to move my (at the time) Stud to the quarentine stall, and that I was to have him off the property by the end of the week. So I did what any 11 year-old girl would do, I found a place where I could work off Sniper's board and got a "Job". That was more problamitic then I thought it would be. I was an 11 year-old girl who's English was broken even on the best of days, a job as a groom for some espiring eventer wasn't that hard to find. But it only lasted until the teenage girl changed her mind, or found some cute boy to take over for me. So Sniper and I were jumping around like mad, and neither of us liked that.  
So I decided to prepare better and move on. It continued like that for 3ish years, moving along an interstate with Sniper, stopping to act as groom for some arising showman, or woman, or another then moving when I was no longer needed. I ended up in southern California working for a 15 year-old girl who went by Gabby. She didn't show eventing for even english, she showed her Quarter Horse mare in cutting classes. It was at one of those shows where I caught a sooty dappled palmino mare who went by SunDancer, if her halter was anything to go by, and her rider. A groomless teenage boy who is know as Colten Furrest-Herman, if the announcer is anything to go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything would be great, Criticism will always be taken into consideration


	3. Once and a while you need someone else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How do you think she does it?"  
> "She does not, They do it."  
> "They?"  
> "Her and her Boy, She can't do it alone, Without Him She is not anything."

As it turns out he normally rides horsemanship and reining. Plus he was looking for a good groom. So when Gabby moved on and fired me, for some cute English boy who was only after her parents money, I became his groom and later I would be the one looking for a groom.  
It only took Colten's parents 2 weeks to realize I wasn't normal, and only another 2 months to get me to move in with them. It took me 15 minutes to pack my whole life into an assault pack, and another 20 to get the guts to actually knock on their door, then it only took me 45 seconds to find the 3 cameras in the entry way. Colten's parents spent 3 weeks dancing around the subject of my past, and it only took 1 bullet for all my lies and secrets to fall apart. In the end it took me a year for my walls to fall while I was "safe" at "home" with 2 spies and my almost brother. 

"Gret? You know you've picked that hoof twice, right?" Colten, my full boyfriend almost brother, asks leaning over the door of his mare's stall. "What?" I ask looking at the hoof in question, sure there aren’t any rocks or sand in it, put there shouldn’t be. " I watched you clean that hoof, go to put it down," Sundancer's stall slides open, "pick it back up, and re-clean it." Her door slides closed and Colten hangs her halter emerald halter on the hook. "Twice, is everything okay? And you can't say fine." He smirks leaning against the wall, I watch Sniper's hoof while I put it down, and check his boots. "Я в порядке" 'I'm fine,' I mumble "What was that?" Colten hisses annoyed, I look him dead in the eye speaking up, "Я тебя люблю." Colten's eyes roll, "Translation?" I unclip Sniper from the cross ties and lead him to his stall smirking "I'm tired, I love you" I 'translate' while hanging Sniper's crimson halter up. "Race ya." I toss over my shoulder when I start running towards the house.

I open the door only to find Jennifer and Matt pouring over 2 separate case files, looking pissed and betrayed respectively. "Gret? Colt? Can we talk to you please?" Matt asks from the kitchen, glancing at Colten we settle across from the adults who are leaning against the breakfast bar. AKA the only thing separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. "So we have a mission and you 2 will be staying here, but with a team of marines just incase 'Shit hits the fan'" Jennifer starts, before Matt takes over, "I know, 'Dad! We'll be fine.' Or 'Mr. Furrest- I mean Matt, sorry! If shit hits the fan I can and will watch over Colten and I. I know where you keep your weapons and I keep at least 2 knives on my person, wait, on me at all times. We will be fine' Well I don't care. You 2 will be staying with the Marines either here, or on base." While Matt was talking Jennifer had made Colt and I each a sandwich, so I took it upon myself to speak for Colton who was already most of the way through his sandwich and eying mine eagerly. "If I am correctly translation your son's body language I think he's on the same page I am," I bite my sandwich silently telling Colten that I am going to eat it. "So I think we are going to stay here on out own turf. If that's fine with you of course." I finish, Matt smiles and nods, "Our own turf. You say it like you're in a gang or something." I shake my head, my mouth full of sandwich. 

That was pretty much how the evening went. Talking about what to do, how to behave, and learning the little we were allowed to know about the mission. Matt having to capture the man, correction that I Tried to tell him Men, who 'trained' or 'created' me. Then it would be my job the go in and have a chat with him, Them, using the methods he, they, taught me. Then we had a 'Family' dinner, Pizza on the couch, and crashed in our various areas.


	4. Sometimes a Girl Needs Backup, Sometimes Backup Makes Shit Worse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why'd she freak?"   
> "Who knows, she's been fucked since day one."  
> "Maybe she finally figured it out?"  
> "Maybe."

It was the next morning that we finally learned the little, the Very little, we could from Jennifer. She was going in as my mother to see what she could learn. I can tell you, and I told her, what is going to happen. There are 2 options, either she'll get shot for her troubles or she will get tortured. It will be the first option. And I straight up told her that, but did she believe me? Oh No she didn’t why would she? I'm an elite killer who got dropped in the US with nothing but her horse and the clothes on her back. When she was 11 and is still fighting with her PTSD four years later. It was Jennifer who introduced Colt and I to the marines on a Thursday evening. Promising that everyone should be home that time next week at the latest. We got a unit of three but they were currently down to two. "Our Sniper ружье," its pronounced ruzh'ya. It's Russian and it means gun or rifle, makes sense with her position in the unit. "She's on a job right now to keep her ghosts away, " Or at least that's what TC the leader and medic told us. With his short stocky build, blonde hair graying at the temples and blue eyes that had seen to much yet not enough. Standing behind him chuckling is the man I make out to be the explosions expert. With his fiery orange hair that he some how scorched at the tips. Jittery hands, five year old attitude and sulfur-y scent. He's code-named Detonation or Det. "'Cause we're lazy assholes and we give our nicknames, nicknames." 

 

We spent that evening dancing around each other, the Marines trying not to get in our way. They were shit at that. Colt was either in his room or checking on me. Watching my progress on the '69 Camaro I picked up cheap somewhere. Or me cleaning up the chrome on my Custom Victory CrossCountry motorcycle. *Cough* Assassinations *Cough*. That’s how we spent most of Friday too, after school and homework. 

 

Sunday afternoon was when life got interesting for us. Sunday was when ружье finished her job. She was skinny and pretty tall, but not even close to Colton's 6'5". She had black hair, pale blue eyes and a raised scar going from the bridge of her nose to the back of her ear. I don’t know what made my attention keep flying over to her. Whenever I ran into the house for a Coke or a fresh shirt or to put my gross shirt to soak after giving up on shirts. "Colton do you know how hard it is to get grease out of a shirt? Or how easy it is to get it off skin? No, trust me skin is way easier. I have my boobs covered, my sports bra covers more than half the bikinis you see on the beach." My eyes found her, but I realized it was the scar that kept getting my attention. Not that I haven't seen scars before, I mean my body's covered in them, all I know is that I kept looking at it. I kept looking at her Scar. The scar caused by a scared ten year old girl woken by a nightmare knife clutched in her long, pale bony fingers. I glance down at my own at my own long, pale, bony, fingers and it all clicks. The Scar. I'm drawn to the scar my knife caused, and I can remember every moment of it. I can remember her almost scream, and the blood. God, the blood, there was blood everywhere. There was blood on her face, blood on my hands and down my pale almost see through arms. Blood I couldn't get out of the one set of sheets, or the too-big t-shirt of the girl before me. The only personal things allowed for me. Seconds later I realized who she was.


End file.
